


Collision

by gabsrambles



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 15:32:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6664291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabsrambles/pseuds/gabsrambles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Lexa´s timing never gets its act together, but there are always galaxies in Clarke´s eyes and regret layered over Lexa´s tongue...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collision

**Author's Note:**

> Ahem…this was me going for something lighter. I failed. I´ll try again next time? Your feedback on "Punchline" was so appreciated--as is feedback anytime :)

It started when they were fifteen, when they thought they knew everything but really knew nothing. The moment twisted with the haze of an ending summer that tasted like salt and seemed to breathe on its own.  After weeks of a friendship forged on the beach their parents had dragged them to separately on family holidays, Lexa sat next to Clarke on the sand and watched the sun sinking over the ocean. Heat prickled along Lexa´s arm and she blamed the sun, when really she thought it could be from the proximity of the other girl´s skin. The thought sent heat blazing across her cheeks.

Everything felt like an conclusion, the tail end, a finale.

Days of awkwardly running into each other on the beach and weeks of a slowly kindled friendship scattered behind them. A sweating bottle of wine now lay between them and their separate flights home to opposite sides of the country lay before them. There had been so many nights like this, the sand mingling in their hair as they lay on their backs, stars a blanket of shimmer above them. The sky out here never seemed to end and it left an ache in the back of Lexa´s throat she couldn´t explain. It stretched forever until, out on the horizon, it met the Earth in a splash of colour and climax every night, the sight one that seemed to explode before her eyes each time. Sometimes Lexa would turn her head and stare at Clarke as she stared up at the sky, the stars flickering in her eyes, and Lexa would trace her face, not questioning what she was doing. It came before a time of questions, of sick feelings in the bottom of her stomach that things were wrong, things were dirty. Instead she gulped Clarke down, her cheekbones, the roundness of her chin, the mole above her lip. With the moon splitting the sky overhead, Clarke would speak about all the things she was going to do, the art she wanted to make, the studio she dreamed of, the volunteer work she was going to accomplish with Doctors Without Borders when she got through med school. She would talk and talk, her voice a husk and shivering down Lexa´s spine like water, and something in Lexa´s chest would swell. It wasn´t just the stars reflecting that Lexa saw in Clarke´s eyes: her eyes somehow held the universe and Lexa was in awe of her.

The sand was cooling between Lexa´s toes the final night, the constant thrum of the ocean´s waves just metres away a rhythm against her heartbeat. It was almost time to get up and go, to say goodbye and walk opposite ways. Clarke´s parents always worried if she was out too long and Lexa´s would assume she was doing something she shouldn´t. Between them, her fingers trailed the sand, grains falling between the tips of her fingers until they brushed against Clarke´s. Somehow, their fingers tangled together, sand trapped between their palms and their fingerprints. Lexa could feel Clarke´s skin, her entire arm pressed against her own and there was something in her that stuttered, that skipped over.

“I don´t want to go.”

Clarke´s voice was the same husk as always, low and gravelly and so different to when she wan´t whispering. It settled low in Lexa´s belly and rested there.

“Me neither.”

And she really didn´t. There was something about this beach, the place she was dragged to when all she had wanted that summer was the cool of her bedroom, her books, her routine at home. There was something about Clarke, though Lexa didn´t know what it was, she couldn´t put her finger on why she felt different to everyone she knew at home.

“I hate goodbyes.” Lexa´s eyes were back on the sky, tracing patterns she now recognised, patterns she could pick out in seconds, causing her lips to curl at their familiarity and all she could do was hum her agreement to what Clarke has said. “Lexa.”

The words washed against Lexa´s cheek and when she turned her head, Clarke´s eyes were close. Too close. Lexa´s breath hitched and, for a second, everything stopped. The skies really were in her eyes, the universe stared back at Lexa and she felt as if she´s falling, overwhelmed and underwhelming. But then Clarke´s lips were on hers and Lexa´s eyes fluttered close, a whisper against her cheeks.

She was soft, and warm, and smelt of salt and tasted of the cheap, sweet wine they had convinced a life guard to buy them that was now knocked over between them and was leaking on the sand. Clarke was everything in that moment, and something about it probably shouldn´t have been right, but how can that register when it felt so good? Slowly, a soft tongue brushed her own and a groan that Lexa didn´t know she could make was swallowed by Clarke as she pressed closer and above, sand raining down upon her.

And then cool air was everywhere and Clarke was walking away and Lexa could only stare after her, her heart in her throat and her lips bruised, watching her disappear down the beach.

 

* * *

 

It continued when they were nineteen and life had trodden on them both a bit more. There was a party, a beat of music and a fraternity pounding with the speakers that blasted it out. People flowed through rooms like a river, weaving and sidestepping and gyrating. It was not the type of place Lexa liked to be, but her foster sister had dragged her out and promptly disappeared into the swarm of people. Anya was good for that. But nothing would have stopped Lexa from following her to that college, as far from her parents suffocating reach as she could get. Her major was political science and she would follow her parent´s footsteps. And that meant behaving a certain way. Yes sir. It almost meant tearing her from a girlfriend when she was sixteen and sending her hours away to a boarding school to _get those sick ideas out of your head—there´s no room for that in this house_ yes, sir.

When Lexa had gotten back that last summer, two years away from home except for mandatory holidays, Costia had sought her out and Lexa had told her to leave her alone. Lips pursed, face pinched, Lexa choked it out, a sob in her chest. All Costia had wanted was to speak to her, just quickly. She´d snuck up to the balcony outside Lexa´s room and looked at her with eyes Lexa could fall into, would fall into, wanted to fall into, had fallen into. And when Lexa had thrown it back at her, armed with a silver tongue and armour years in the making, Costia had clenched her jaw and nodded, once, and turned and left her.

Lexa had even had the gall to feel deceived.

When she´d turned, her father was shadowed in the doorway. She will never know if he saw the tears sliding down her cheeks, the angry flush heating them or not, but he gave her a nod that was nothing like Costia´s, and closed her door behind himself as he left.

Sometimes, it felt like her life was trying to crawl out of her throat.

The cup in Lexa´s hand felt clammy in the corner she´d found a haven from the noise and press of the room and she took desperate, sour sips to try to ease her awkwardness. Bodies pressed close to each other, moving as one entire entity and she cocked her head, pressed against the brick, and watched the party unfold around her. Two boys dumped a bucket of iced water over a couple on the couch that looked like they were heading to third base, someone was held upside down and drank from a keg, her tiny body beating every dude bro in the room. Her giant boyfriend, all hard muscle and soft eyes, watched her proudly. Someone slapped someone else and a fight broke out that was quickly quelled.

She could watch lifetimes pass from her corner. Someone pressed another drink into her hand, and this time, Lexa drank it faster. The warm wine tasted like a summer she never let herself think about, and for a quick second, she thought she smelt salt, crisp and airy and everything she missed about herself.

There was someone blonde in the middle of the room, not bleached blonde, not dyed blonde, not blonde from the sun, but born blonde. Blonde like corn, like corona, like the fizz of the bottle when you opened it and felt it warm your insides. The smell of salt intensified and Lexa stared, her eyes starting to water because everything in her forgot to breathe, to swallow, to blink. That crown of blonde bobbed, twirled, face obscured. And then the crowd parted as one, the beat sending them different directions, and Lexa could see her clearly.

Four years had not done much, yet had changed her completely. Her face was thinner, the apple of her cheeks lessened, the bones a little sharp. A hazy smile pulled at her mouth and Lexa remembered when those smiles were that way from sun, from the water, from a breeze. There was something harder, now. There were black smudges under her eyes and Lexa remembered to breathe and remembered who she was, and remembered she didn´t want to see her eyes. She pushed off the wall and grabbed another cup of the wine on her way, drinking it in one hit as she pushed past people and emerged outside, the air cooling her blazing cheeks. She gulped it down, pulled it into her lungs, inflated herself so she could remember that someone she was supposed to be.

On her left was a decaying lattice that went up and up, and Lexa hooked a foot into it and climbed. It pulled from the wall, rattled in her hand, creaked so loudly she could hear it over the cacophony only a frat party could make. But it held. She ended up on a roof, the sky spread out above her, and with the taste of that wine again on her lips, she fell onto her back and spread her arms wide, aching for that feeling of easy innocence four years ago. Instead she was left with an anger that burnt deep and an unsettled feeling.

Then an ¨oof¨ and a slight bang and Lexa pushed herself up on her elbows to see Clarke kneeling on the roof, a smile lighting her face as she wavered at the edge.

“I knew I saw you.”

She was really wavering at the edge and something twisted in Lexa´s gut.

“You did see me. Get away from the edge.”

Clarke giggled, a sound that was nothing like the one she heard on the shore before, and threw her arms wide in a parody of what Lexa had done moments before.

“Why? Maybe I can fly.”

Even in the half darkness, Lexa could see it. She was high, her eyes glazed, black holes, and now Lexa couldn´t turn away from it, couldn´t run and hide from that one thing that was meant to be pure from years ago. It was easy to sit up and wrap her fingers around her wrist, her heart pounding in her chest. She yanked hard, sending them both backwards and Clarke rolled half off her, laughing while they both stared up at the sky.

Lexa said nothing, just found patterns to trace in the sky and felt Clarke finally still, her head pressed half on Lexa´s shoulder, their hair a tangled mess and Clarke´s leg thrown over her own. Really, she should have pushed her off, away, but there was something nice in having someone pressed against her, her nerves on fire and breathing syncing with her own. Lexa was drunk, Clarke was high, and nothing good was going to come from any of that. Lexa felt shelled, felt like the walls around her were fortified, and something in Clarke was broken, or damaged, or bent so far Lexa almost hadn´t recognised her.

They lay for hours, the moon tracking over the sky and their breath misting a little above them. The sky was crystal clear, as if wiped clean just for them, and there was a lump in Lexa´s throat no amount of swallowing was pushing down.

“You smell like the beach.”

It was the first time Clarke spoke since she decided she could fly.

Lexa hummed. “Someone gave me wine that tasted like the beach.”

Clarke turned her head and Lexa felt her breath still in her chest, reminiscent of years ago, as Clarke´s nose, cold and gentle, pressed against the soft swell of her neck. Clarke nuzzled, humming, and Lexa didn´t want to close her eyes and revel in it, but she did, that lump in her throat growing until something prickled at the back of her eyes. Lips pressed then, to the thumping point of her pulse, the hammering of her heart echoing under her skin, and Clarke found it easily. Lips tugged at Lexa´s earlobe, sucking and some of that prickling spilt out, spilt down her cheek and Clarke´s tongue, just the tip, soft, swept it up and her lips brushed the spot.

“You´re high.” Lexa whispered the words.

“I am.”

Clarke´s voice was that husk, and something in Lexa´s stomach throbbed that at least that was the same.

“Why?”

There were lips against her eyelids, her brow, and Lexa wanted to fall into the feeling, to fall into being touched like she could break because there were parts of her that wanted to shatter.

“I´m fucked up.”

The words washed over Lexa´s face and Lexa wanted to tell Clarke that so was she, my God, so was she.

“Why are you fucked up, Clarke?”

And then Clarke was straddling her, the warmth of her thighs enveloping her and was tugging Lexa to sit up as she sat in her lap. Her lips were demanding, were bruising, were hard and soft and Lexa´s fingers were gripping the bare skin of her thighs where her skirt has ridden up, the chill on her skin soaking up the warmth of Lexa´s. Hands gripped Lexa´s shirt, pulling her in as close as they could. The tongue in Lexa´s mouth was demanding, was brutal, was taking everything she had and normally Lexa liked it softer, slower, but this was Clarke and somehow, Lexa just wanted to give her whatever she needed. The way Clarke´s hips were moving was intoxicating, the arch of her back, the press of her front against Lexa´s had everything spinning. Her hands cupped Clarke´s face, her fingers tight against her cheeks, cheeks just that bit too thin, and Lexa managed to lean back, panting, to stare at her. This wasn´t meant to be something Lexa did, no sir, but that wasn´t what stopped her and that made shame flare in her gut, hot and liquid and burning. When Clarke´s eyes blinked open, they were still a universe, clouded, swirling, but there. This girl still had the stars in eyes but was lost to her own constellations.

“Clarke.”

Clarke´s eyes were filled, glistening, her lips pressed tightly together. Lexa leant forward, brushed her nose against Clarke´s, their lips barely touching and pulled back again, an inch yet an ocean separating them.

“Why are you fucked up, Clarke?”

Clarke gave a tiny shake of her head, her lower lip quivered just slightly. Her fingers bit into Lexa´s hands where they still cupped Clarke´s face as Clarke gripped them, to push Lexa away or pull her closer, Lexa didn´t know.

“My dad flew. Did you know that?” Clarke´s voice was still a husk, a prayer, and her voice hitched over the word _dad_. It was like gravel again, still settling in Lexa´s stomach but laced with pain, with tar. “He was a pilot. And last month his plane crashed.”

Clarke bit her bottom lip so hard it went white. Lexa swallowed, her thumb brushing over that lip until Clarke let it go. “Clarke.”

And Lexa´s voice, she can hear, is a husk like Clarke´s, filled with emotion, tearing out of her throat.

“And I´m too fucked up for you.”

Clarke stood and turned, somehow deftly spinning to climb down and away, again, leaving Lexa with a bruise on her neck and across her heart, before she could tell Clarke that maybe Clarke was just the right amount of fucked up for her.

* * *

 

There were years of study, of avoiding going home, of staying with Anya who had been her parents charity case, the front to look good to the big world of politics and constantly shoved aside, yet never held a grudge. All she´d done was take Lexa under her wing and protect her from what she could. The night she´d been shipped off to boarding school, sobbing for Costia and scared of her parents, scared what the words they´d thrown at her meant, scared of her own body, Anya had snuck in with a packet of cigarettes and a bottle of vodka, on break from college and full of soothing punches on the arm. They´d laid on their backs on the balcony Costia and Lexa first kissed, first melded into each other, first whispered words that felt infinite and vast and scary. Anya and Lexa had lain there and Anya had pulled Lexa into her side and let her cry, and not bothered telling her it would be okay.

In college, they moved into an apartment that Lexa´s parents paid for, and would keep paying for if they both kept performing at the top, stayed in honour classes, weren´t caught doing things that they shouldn´t be doing. Anya, always herself in spite of what others wanted her to be, brought women home and just made sure not to be caught. For a while, Lexa was worried, Anya stayed out too late and sometimes didn´t come home. She did it quietly, as if used to a double life, and her parents heard nothing of it, but Lexa realised she didn´t care what they thought, instead she was worried about Anya. It was in her final year that laughter trickled up the stairs at four, birds already starting to make an alert for a new day outside the window. Lexa lay there and heard the feminine sound and felt a longing deep in her chest spread roots out towards her stomach and plant themselves deeply.

The next night, she went out with Anya to a bar around the corner. It was dark and dingy, sunken so that you could see feet walking past the windows and nothing more. A jukebox sat in the corner blasting music Lexa didn´t think she´d like but found herself moving to. Anya slung a casual arm over Lexa´s shoulder and handed her a beer, the taste sharp and like shock on her tongue. People trickled in and a woman named after a bird challenged them to a pool game and Lexa and Anya shared a look as they accepted.

Lexa´s father was a pro at pool and had taught them both everything they knew.

They played unfairly, losing the first on purpose against the woman and her friend—boyfriend?—before slaying them the next and the next, left with a fifty each and high fiving. Instead of chucking a fit, the woman bought them all a round and they stood in a huddle, playing again and again and Lexa felt something seep into her stomach that felt a little like happiness. She hadn´t been to the bar yet and as Anya sunk the black ball again, twirling the cue and throwing the others a wink, she wove through the gathered crowd and stood at the bar, an ease to her shoulders that disappeared when Clarke stepped in front of her. She was all angles and cheek bones still, leaning against the bar and a smirk on her lips.

“Well, hi. I was wondering when you´d come over.”

Lexa wanted to walk away, to throw herself over the bar, to kiss her, to tell her to leave her alone. Instead, she said, “It´s my round.”

Clarke started pulling beers as if she´d done it forever and Lexa watched the way she swayed to the music, her hips sashaying and the black bomber jacket sitting perfectly. Lexa watched Clarke at ease and couldn´t help but ask, “ Are you high, again?”

Clarke laughed, a sound that was more like fifteen than nineteen but still not quite there. “Always.”  She winked, and her pupils were dilated, a look that shadowed the stars and choked Lexa to her core.

“I never saw you at college again.”

Clarke was lining up the beers, one two three and adding the shots. No order was taken, it seemed she knew the crowd and she pushed a shot of amber liquid to Lexa and took one for herself, and they shot it together, eyes glued to each other. If Clarke wanted to that again and again, Lexa didn´t think she could say no and that didn´t bother her as much as it probably should. “I dropped out. Well, they kicked me out. I´m taking art, now.”

A tattoo laced its way along a clavicle, peeping out from under her collar and Lexa´s eyes couldn´t leave it. It looked like a wave of lines, a joining of dots. Curiosity tugged and fuelled by tequila that still burned her throat, she leant over the bar, her fingers tracing up Clarke´s arm to tug the collar aside. There was no resistance from Clarke, who simply watched her movements, eyes tracing her face.

“ A constellation.”

“Yes.”

It was one Lexa saw when she looked at Clarke, one that shadowed them, hovered and pulled and tugged.

The skin under her fingertips was warm and soft, the girl in front of her hard and not cold, but not warm. Not fire and passion and an urge to save the world. Not the girl from years ago, not the girl from the roof. But neither was Lexa. Or, perhaps, the thought tearing through her mind, Lexa still was both of those girls, not as innocent as the one from the beach, but she was stuck on that roof, stuck in beliefs that weren´t hers but suffocated her anyway. She couldn´t stand here with Clarke, with the knowledge that at least Clarke was growing and morphing, perhaps learning, and Lexa was stalled, a degree almost completed, grad school to come, politics ahead, just as her parents had plotted.

What was her life, and where was it going? Where was it going that Lexa had planned, Lexa had plotted?

She dropped money on the bar and called Anya over, who swept her eyes appreciatively over Clarke as she helped Lexa carry the drinks. Lexa turned away when Clarke winked at her sister and she swallowed the envy that reared up like a storm.

After four more games of pool and several more rounds, Lexa felt like she was swimming, gliding, likes she gave no fucks again. The girl named for birds and her friend or brother or boyfriend had brought more people over and Anya was curled around one, using her hips to teach her to hit properly. Lexa felt like blunted edges that didn´t entirely fit, her arms dangled and she slipped her hands into her pockets until, another shot warming her belly, she walked back to the bar.

Clarke saw her and slipped away from the people she was serving, whispering to the other bar tender who´s head was shaved so close Lexa wondered how he ever kept warm. Leaning over the bar again with crossed arms, Lexa´s eyes traced her face and fell to her chest.

“Want another drink?”

At her nod, Clarke poured them each one more, her eyes flickering to the crowd Lexa had left behind way at the back as the took them.

Swallowing, Lexa refused to look away, she wanted to see the galaxies she knew Clarke held within her somewhere. “Can we talk somewhere?”

Clarke bit her lip, her eyes flickered away again but then were back to Lexa, and gave a nod. Slipping under the bar, Clarke lead her away, out a door that seemed hidden and into a room out the back filled with cartons and kegs and bottles of wine. The door shut with a snick and Clarke leant against it, watching Lexa.

“How do you do that?”

Clarke didn´t move towards her, instead cocking her head. “What?”

“You´re high, or drunk, or both, but I feel like you can see right through me.”

Clarke finally shrugged. “I feel like I see oceans when you look at me.”

Lexa shouldn´t be there, she should be at home, or reading, or organising something. But she was here, in a room with Clarke and Lexa needed something, anything, and she stepped forward, melded against Clarke who closed her eyes and sighed and Lexa kissed her.

It was what Lexa had wanted the last time, it was soft and tender. It felt like exploration, like arriving. There was a thigh between her own that angled up and the groan she let out should have embarrassed her but instead encouraged her. Clarke´s fingers were in her hair, down her back, under her shirt with nails softly scraping against her side. Her fingers were everywhere and Lexa felt like she was breaking open, cracking down the middle and spilling out.

With ease, Clarke spun them so the wood bit into Lexa´s back, their mouths never parting. Her cheeks were wet but Lexa didn´t care, she didn´t care about anything but the hand that snaked down her stomach and into her pants. The fingers that stroked her, the tongue tracing her lips and the rhythm her hips created as if Clarke had struck a beat. When she came undone, Clarke swallowed her cry and fingers stroked her cheek.  Lexa´s hand went to the button on Clarke´s jeans but Clarke grabbed them, her fingers suddenly hard, and shook her head.

For the first time in minutes, Lexa opened her eyes and there were stars in front of her, flushed cheeks and Clarke shaking her head.

“Why…?”

Clarke swallowed and stepped back. “My boyfriend is out there with Raven…I…I have to go back.”

Everything went cold, and Clarke´s eyes darted away.

“Your boyfriend?”

Clarke nodded. “He´s…I…he´s helped me, a lot.”

“And this"?” Lexa feels disgust worm its way into her chest, her heart rate still racing in her ears and pattering out her excuses.

“It´s you, Lexa. I…it´s you.” Clarkes voice broke on the second you, like it had once at another word she´d said, and she looked at Lexa like that was all the truth that mattered, and a part of Lexa wondered if it was.

 “Do you love him?”

With no hesitation, Clarke nodded.

Lexa, cheeks hot and frustration gnawing at her, buttoned her pants and turned, yanking the door open.

“Lexa!” She paused at the tone, the desperation, the plea, but didn´t turn, couldn´t see the eyes that promised shooting stars and wishes, that promised Lexa things she had told herself she never needed. “I told you, I´m too fucked up for you.”

And she can hear it, the sincerity. “The only problem I see, Clarke, is that you have a boyfriend.”

She walked through the bar without finding Anya, but it didn´t matter, because as soon as she was in fresh air, Anya was running behind her, slipping an arm around her waist and walking her home, no questions on her tongue.

 

* * *

When Lexa was finishing her final grad year, a doctorate just in reach, she ran into Costia. Lexa was home for Christmas and apparently, so was she. Unable to breathe at home, her parents clinking their way through dinner, Anya unable to come back because of work, Lexa had ran to a café to hide with some work. The windows were foggy and the snow fell in the type of fall that made it seem mystical and magical. The flakes fluttered slowly to the ground and Lexa lazily tapped at keys on her laptop, full of cake and full of the need to go back to college. Her parents spoke of how proud they were of her for _moving on from that nonsense, no one can support a politician with those disturbing proclivities_. They asked her about boyfriends and her thesis and Lexa wondered if her parents ever really cared.

And then Costia was standing in front of her. Snowflakes coated her shoulders and in her hair, dreadlocked now, no longer a cloud around her head. Her smile was bigger than even Lexa remembered and in her chest, Lexa´s heart skipped a beat.

It build over hours before they were at Costia´s and peeling away clothes liked they´d peeled away the last eight years. She tasted like eggnog, like could have beens, almost with a tinge of regret. She tasted sweet. She felt like Costia and Lexa felt like she´d come home for the first time she could remember.

* * *

 

There were five years of bliss, of living together, of keeping themselves a secret before their fighting started. Lexa couldn´t even blame Costia. Her parents didn´t know, couldn´t know. They couldn´t be public. They never held hands in the supermarket, never kissed under streetlights with the sky coming down around them.

But Lexa loved Costia, she loved her in a way that felt all consuming, and never had Lexa felt like herself before. A weekend when Lexa was wrapped up in campaigning, Costia went home to see her father, sick in hospital, and Lexa worked through days and nights blurry eyed. She had no idea why she did it, but it was expected so she did.

Their campaign was revamping their marketing and slogans and Lexa had pushed the meeting twice before she´d found the time. The office down the hall from her boss was empty for the afternoon, so Lexa commandeered it and waited for the graphic designer to arrive with the samples. Lexa was to approve them before they went through to her boss and afterwards, she was going to crawl home and into bed and sleep and hope Costia could come home early.

The knock at the door echoed somehow, and Lexa looked up and froze. Clutching a lap top and a portfolio under her arm was Clarke, staring as if she´d seen a ghost. For a second, Lexa couldn´t speak until slowly she straightened.

“Clarke.”

“Lexa.”

Clarke shut the door behind her and padded forward, placing her things on the desk between them. A smile played at her lips. “It´s been awhile, this time.”

Lexa nodded, her cheeks warm. “It has.”

Swallowing, Clarke pulled her portfolio open and started placing post card and posters down across the desk. The work was bold, was colourful, was eye catching and everything their campaign needed. She was speaking, her fingers tracing curves of letters, and highlighting bold areas, saying things about what could change where it could go. Lexa could barely focus on any of it, as she watched the nervous bob of her throat, the slight tremble to her fingers. Clarke still bit her lip when she took a moment to think and when Clarke looked up and asked, “What do you think?” Lexa had to blink and remember to take a breath in.

“You´re not high.”  She murmured.

The surprised laugh was like a bark, and Lexa smiled at the sound. “No. I´m not.”

“I´m glad.” And she was. There was more to Clarke now, there was a spark to her voice that tugged at memories of the beach, that sounded almost like passion.

“Are you well?”

That was a question Lexa didn´t know what to do with. It hung between them, widening and growing and in an attempt to stop it getting any bigger, she nodded sharply. “Yes. I´m well.”

Clarke´s brow furrowed and she stepped around the desk, standing in Lexa´s space, too close and somehow not close enough. “What is it?”

Inexplicably, that lump was in Lexa´s throat, growing and prickling at her eyes. She tried to swallow it down, but somehow, when she opened her eyes she could feel the dampness in them. Clarke´s thumb traced her cheek, traced over her lips and finally, Lexa looked up and caught her eyes. There was no cloud anymore, and Lexa could fall into them, fall into the constellations that still splayed their way through them and that wasn´t something she could do.

“My life.” Her words were whispered and wet, unsure and heady. They broke her open and she felt a tear fall down her cheek, Clarke´s soft thumb brushing it away. Clarke said nothing, and Lexa was grateful for it. Instead she ran her nose over Lexa´s, the touch soft and aching and wanting and Lexa felt a sob burst from her chest. She shook her head and stood back, Clarke´s eyes clouded with only confusion.

“I don´t have a boyfriend.”

And Lexa gave a strangled laugh. “But I have a girlfriend.”

Somehow, Clarke didn´t even look surprised. “Do you love her?”

With no hesitation, Lexa nodded. “I do.”

Clarke´s smile was sad, was gut wrenching, was stinging. “Good.”

Lexa approved every design and Clarke disappeared out the door, a strange part of Lexa tempted to leave everything behind and chase after her.

 

* * *

It took two more years, with Lexa pushed high up the ranks of the political army, for Costia to snap. With a quiver to her lips but determination in her eyes, she left. And Lexa, her chest aching with sobs that choked her, couldn´t even fault her. Costia was tired of being her friend, or her roommate, she was tired of living in someone else´s closet and to be honest, so was Lexa, but she didn´t know how to leave it. Surrounding her were all the things her parents had wanted but inside of her, Lexa felt empty, like she was being dragged through barbed wire and had left everything behind to save herself. Anya moved in and this time, she did ask questions. She pushed and Lexa pushed back, words tearing from her throat not meant for her sister but there was no one else to receive them. Anya stood and nodded and asked her for more, absorbing each blow and pushing her to the edge until Lexa dropped to the floor, week from expelling it all.

The next year at Christmas, too pale, too thin, Anya held her hand under the table, a tier of support. Her parents asked about marriage, spoke of increased likeliness of votes for someone in a family with two point five kids and Lexa stood up, the chair scraping along the floor, and just walked out.

With a laugh leaving her lips, incredulous and delighted, Anya followed her.

Eyes wide and heart pounding, Lexa quit her job, left a trail of responsibility behind her and went to her old college. Her achievements followed her, and gaining a place as a lecturer was easy. Her parents cut her off but after years of her own success, she didn´t need them and found the disappointment on her tongue was not as strong as it should have been. When she ran into Costia, eyes bright and hand clasped with a girl whose words lilted with an accent, Lexa only felt a dull throb in her stomach.

She had never known she´d like teaching. Watching classes in front of her soak up her words, some nodding, some with their eyes glazed over as they didn’t even really pay attention, gave her a sense of satisfaction. Picking out the brighter minds and nudging them along their goals became Lexa´s favourite hobby. She helped find them their theses, sent them to other professors who could help and felt a feeling that seemed not unlike pride when they surpassed even her accomplishments when she´d been at college.

Right after her thirty eighth birthday Lexa was in the café across from the college. A double shot latte was in her hand, the takeaway cup warming her skin, when she saw a blonde head in a booth at the back. Nothing like surprise shot up her spine, but she felt something like a smile pull at her lips. With her heart in her throat, Lexa slid into the seat across from Clarke, who looked up in surprise at her moment alone being intruded. Lexa watched her lips part when she caught sight of Lexa, then heard the laugh tumble out of her.

“Hello.” Lexa said. That smile was still tugging at her.

Clarke, a look like wonder on her face, leant back in her booth. “Hey.”

And they fell into a conversation that stilted and lagged and eventually picked up steam. The café started to close around them and eventually the waitress kicked them out. They were ejected into the street, eyes desperately trying to adjust from the florescent light inside to the dim streetlights outside. Hands stuffed in her pockets, Clarke asked, “Do you live near here?”

Lexa and nodded. “I do.”

“With anyone…”

“Yes.” Lexa tried to ignore the rise in her chest when Clarke looked disappointed. “My sister.”

That disappointed look was smothered by a smile and Clarke rocked back on her heels. “Can I walk you home?”

So with the night falling around them, they walked side by side, conversation dropping softly between them, shoulders brushing and sending sparks shooting down Lexa´s arm. It´s never been like this, never in her life had she walked down a street feeling like herself, the settling of her own choices falling around her.

At her door, Clarke stepped into her space at the same time that Lexa did and they surged together easily, lips tracing contours and the spaces in between, the hidden maps they´d left for each other and the sky blooming constellations above them. There were soft sighs and then a softer parting, Clarke´s hand steady against the back of Lexa´s neck.

Clarke´s eyes blinked open and Lexa was already staring at her, wanting to see if her eyes still held all the worlds around them. Stars stared back at her, galaxies and universes clear as they had been when they were fifteen and splayed out on a beach, their hearts thumping with possibilities. The thought creeped through Lexa´s mind that maybe it was not just that Clarke held all of that, but that she reflected Lexa back at herself and maybe there´d always been stars in her own chest.

With Clarkes breath soft against Lexa´s lips, she asked, “Can I take you to dinner?”

And when Lexa murmured “Yes” everything clicked into place, an eclipse of perfect proportions.

**Author's Note:**

> _I tumble[here](http://gabs-88.tumblr.com/), feel free to stop by and ramble at me, ask questions, say hi or whatever._


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